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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26396944">if it's a fit it'll fit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/reclusivefutures/pseuds/reclusivefutures'>reclusivefutures</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>throuple's therapy [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Tegan and Sara (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, F/F, Getting Back Together, Polyamory Negotiations</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:34:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,439</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26396944</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/reclusivefutures/pseuds/reclusivefutures</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara is the most important person in Emy’s life. Maybe she shouldn’t be, still. But that doesn’t change the fact of it. Sara is the first person she calls in a crisis or a triumph. She can’t go a full day without talking to her. She would drop everything, come running, no questions asked, at Sara’s call—and she has, more times than she can count. Sara has broken her heart, yes, but Sara has also filled her heart over and over, has so many times been the reason for her heart’s healing and growing and changing. They’ve been through a lot, but Sara is her family.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sara Quin/Emily "Emy" Storey | EE Storey, Sara Quin/Emily "Emy" Storey/Stacy Reader, Sara Quin/Stacy Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>throuple's therapy [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858387</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>if it's a fit it'll fit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi! this new installment of my poly sara series is essentially the first installment, "so be careful (if you're wanting this touch)," from emy's p.o.v.<br/>title is from "sheets" by tns, a song that I like to imagine is about sara housesitting for emy lol.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sara is the most important person in Emy’s life. Maybe she shouldn’t be, still. But that doesn’t change the fact of it. Sara is the first person she calls in a crisis or a triumph. She can’t go a full day without talking to her. She would drop everything, come running, no questions asked, at Sara’s call—and she has, more times than she can count. Sara has broken her heart, yes, but Sara has also filled her heart over and over, has so many times been the reason for her heart’s healing and growing and changing. They’ve been through a lot, but Sara is her family.</p><p> </p><p>So when her phone rings at 1:30 pm on a Sunday in May, and it’s Sara’s name on the screen, Emy picks up without a thought, even though her players are still slapping the losing team’s hands in a display of smirkingly performative goodwill. She should be giving them a lecture on sportswomanship, but she can do that after she makes sure Sara is okay.</p><p> </p><p>Generally, at least since the start of this decade, Sara’s not a spontaneous caller. She’s a texter, primarily, but she has learned to embrace FaceTime in the past few years, and if she has to settle for a phone call, she’s likes to text first to schedule it.</p><p> </p><p>This deviation from the norm is enough to cause a spike of anxiety, so she answers as quickly as she can.</p><p> </p><p>“Sara? Are you okay?” Her fingers on the phone are sticky from the orange slices she’d spent the morning cutting, serving, and eating.</p><p> </p><p>Sara sounds . . .  weird. She says she’s okay, and she insists she isn’t fighting with Stacy, but Emy isn’t sure she trusts her about any of that.</p><p> </p><p>After Emy hangs up, she tells her assistant coach she has to go, a family emergency. The game is over, but she’s never left before she knows all the kids have a ride home, and she usually gives the team some kind of morale-boosting speech after a game. She’s seen all the kids’ normal family members at this game, though, feels reasonably assured of their safety, and the players, still smirking at their opponents, definitely don’t look like they need a morale boost. </p><p> </p><p>So she turns toward home, her head spinning. It’s a pretty long walk, but she can’t justify paying for a Lyft on a bright, warm day like today, and, anyway, she needs the time to call Stacy.</p><p> </p><p>Stacy answers suspiciously fast, like she’d been waiting by the phone, which is out of character for her. She sounds breathless. “Emy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” Emy says, surprised to find herself feeling nervous.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Stacy greets, and Emy feels instant relief at the warmth in her voice. “You talk to Sara?”</p><p> </p><p>“She just called me,” Emy confirms. “On her way from the airport?” Emy says, with a tone of <em>can you believe this guy?</em></p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Stacy says, with a barely-there breath of a laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“Is . . . everything okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Emy hears Stacy sigh a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this but . . . our girl is hella dramatic.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Emy says, “I’ve noticed.” She forces herself to slow her pace slightly. Stacy sounds just a little off, but overall she seems steady. Same old even-keeled Stacy. Neither she nor Sara sound like anything is falling apart. Still, Emy asks, “So . . . nothing’s wrong? I mean, sure<em> Sara</em> might think something’s wrong, but—nothing is <em>actually </em>wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. She—she does want to talk to you,” Stacy tells her, sounding like she’s trying to speak carefully, which is odd. Stacy almost always speaks carefully, but it’s never been something that requires any obvious effort on her part. Right now, it’s clear she’s measuring her words.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Emy says slowly. “You guys aren’t fighting?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no,” Stacy says, then laughs. “Not more than usual. We’re good. It’s nothing bad, but—“</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Emy presses.</p><p> </p><p>“You know Sara.”</p><p> </p><p>“I do,” Emy agrees, and she’s sure Stacy can hear her silent plea for more information.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s really scared to talk to you. She wanted to go alone to see you. I wanted to come, I swear.” And now Stacy’s voice is thinning just a bit, pitching high and uncertain in a way Emy has never heard it before.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” she says, trying to stay calm, if only to help counteract Stacy’s obvious distress. “Why did she want to come by herself?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you know Sara, she’s just being all<em> I am a solitary and unknowable island and I must walk this road alone </em>about it.”</p><p> </p><p>Emy laughs. Teasing Sara is familiar, comfortable ground with Stacy, and it makes Emy feel steadier to know that nothing is so wrong that they can’t still have that.</p><p> </p><p>“God and you’re literally like <em>Sara </em>please<em> hello I would like to help you with this</em> and she’s like <em>oh no, it’s too bad that it is my solemn fate to be all alone in this dark world.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. Exactly. It’s textbook Sara.”</p><p> </p><p>“So . . . she’s okay? She didn’t do something to piss you off?” No offense to Sara, but Emy can imagine a million different scenarios that would send Sara across the country without notice, and very few of them make Sara look good. </p><p> </p><p>“God, no,” Stacy assures her. “She’s completely fine. This isn’t like a running off into the night situation. But—“</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s really . . . nervous,” Stacy finally says.</p><p> </p><p>“Anxious,” Emy says. She isn’t correcting Stacy, she’s just confirming that she understands Sara’s sometimes unpredictable mental health, and she understands the responsibility of guarding it.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Stacy agrees, then hesitates. “Can I just—would you . . . she wouldn’t let me come . . .”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, what do you want? What do you need me to do?” Emy asks, probably too eagerly.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s just . . . not that you wouldn’t but . . . can you just be . . . gentle with her? Careful? I’m pretty worried, she didn’t sleep last night at all, you know how she gets.”</p><p> </p><p>Emy smiles a little. She can’t help it. It feels so good to know Sara has Stacy in her life, and that <em>Emy</em> has Stacy in her life. If she had told her 27-year-old self that she’d one day feel so close to and so fond of Sara’s new partner, she can’t imagine what she would have thought. “I’ll feed her and make sure she sleeps, don’t worry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sometimes it feels like we have joint custody,” Stacy jokes.</p><p> </p><p>“God,” Emy agrees. Sara is unpredictable and controlling and shockingly needy, and Emy would do anything for her. “I’ll make sure she texts you and calls you, don’t worry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>“I miss you,” Stacy says, sounding soft.</p><p> </p><p>“I miss you too. Not that I’m not happy to see her, but . . . I wish you were here too,” Emy says, feeling a little shy. She’s known Stacy for almost a decade, and they’re friends—<em>good </em>friends, but something about the energy of this conversation feels different.  </p><p> </p><p>“Me too,” Stacy says. “So much.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a pause while Emy tries to piece together what could possibly be going on in Sara’s head, and in Stacy’s. “What’s this about, Stace?”</p><p> </p><p>She can<em> hear </em>her think, can hear her hesitate. “She wants to tell you herself.”</p><p> </p><p>Emy sighs. “But you know why she’s here?”<br/><br/></p><p>“Yeah. It’s not just a her thing. It was kind of my idea,” she says, and something about the way she says it makes Emy blush.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Emy says, absorbing this. “And it’s—nothing bad?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s not bad. I feel good about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“You do?” she asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Also, um . . .”</p><p> </p><p>Emy waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t. “Yeah?” she prompts, trying to sound as gentle as possible.</p><p> </p><p>“Emy, I know you know this but—there isn’t any jealousy, or possessiveness, or anything, with us. With the three of us, I mean. I just . . . want Sara to be happy, and . . . I trust you with her,” Stacy says. “And—I trust her with you.”</p><p> </p><p>Emy is fully losing her shit now, but she makes herself breathe, makes herself walk toward her apartment at a semi-normal pace. “Sorry, but, what the fuck are you talking about?”</p><p> </p><p>“I really have to let her talk to you. She’ll never forgive me if I steal her thunder.”</p><p> </p><p>“I just want to make sure—,” Emy starts, and she makes herself take a deep breath. She can’t feel her feet but she can hear them pound against the sidewalk. “I don’t want to get in between you two. Ever. That is the absolute last thing I want.”</p><p><br/><br/>“Emy,” Stacy says, and her voice is full of warmth. “That’s not—possible. You could never. You can do anything you want, okay? I mean, anything you and Sara want.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. Yeah,” she says, shocked and numb. “Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just try to give her some time? She’s scared.”<br/><br/></p><p>“She shouldn’t be,” Emy says stupidly, even though she still doesn’t really <em>know</em> what Sara is even scared about.</p><p> </p><p>“I know. But she is.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Poor Sara,” she says, trying to access the mutual teasing they’d had going a moment before. She’s on her street now, approaching her block. She has to joke to distract herself from her racing thoughts and her pounding heart.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, the poor thing. She’s got an awful life. Really feel for her. Must be<em> tough</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I hear it’s really hard to be famous and successful and universally adored.”</p><p> </p><p>She finally reaches her block, and sees Sara, and her heart jumps. She ends the call with Stacy with an assurance she has Sara in sight and will keep her updated. She finds she <em>misses </em>Stacy when she’s no longer in her ear, but then there’s Sara to deal with and she can’t think of anything but getting <em>closer</em> to her.</p><p> </p><p>Sara looks small on her doorstep. Sara <em>is </em>small, but she can look fierce, can look infinite, can look like the world was made for her alone. On stage, Sara commands attention like no one else Emy has ever seen. But now, she looks tiny. She’s got her head down, but she looks up, then startles back when she sees Emy, and finally relaxes a bit. Shockingly quickly, the tears start to fall.</p><p> </p><p>Emy is—changed. Sara falls apart, and Emy <em>loses her mind</em>. In an instant, she’s down on the concrete step with Sara, pulling her into her arms.</p><p> </p><p>She loves having Sara in her arms, loves the way she fits so well against her body. Despite the confusing circumstances, she’s so happy to have her here, to have her lay her head on her shoulder, like it’s a reflex, like it’s the first thing Sara thinks to do.</p><p> </p><p>Sara has had a key to her apartment for years, so she’s either being deliberately self-denying and dramatic by sitting out here, or she forgot her key. Emy’s pretty sure she didn’t forget her key.</p><p> </p><p>She ushers her inside, makes her a latte the way she likes, warms up a scone she‘d been saving for breakfast tomorrow, sets these offerings on the small table that they bought together at a thrift store in 2004.</p><p> </p><p>Emy has had a decade to think about what went wrong between them—how things ended, why things ended, every single mistake she’d made in those months and years.</p><p> </p><p>She knows how Sara blames herself—anyone with eyes can see that Sara blames herself—but it wasn’t Sara’s fault. Or it wasn’t Sara’s fault any more than it was her own. They had been so young. They hadn't been ready. Their falling apart had nothing to do with how much they loved each other.</p><p> </p><p>Emy thinks that Sara must know how she feels, because to her it feels like she is embarrassingly obvious. But, she will admit (with all the love in the world) that Sara can be a mostly-benign type of self-absorbed—in the sense that she is nearly incapable of seeing outside of her own self-doubt and insecurity—so it’s possible she’s not aware.</p><p> </p><p>But it’s simple, for Emy, despite the things that went wrong between them: Sara is her family. Nothing could ever make her stop being her family. Having Sara in her life, at the<em> center</em> of her life, is non-negotiable for her, and she’ll take that any way she can get it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Once inside and fed and caffeinated and no longer on the verge of more tears, Sara tries to chat with her about anything but what she came here for and Emy lets her.</p><p> </p><p>She feels unbelievably impatient, but she promised Stacy she’d let Sara take it slow. Personally, she prefers to get things out in the open as quickly as possible, and she’s found that while pushing Sara to talk to her can sometimes be effective, it can also backfire, pushing her further into her shell.</p><p> </p><p>So. Emy could be patient, today. Whatever she needed from her, Sara would figure out how to ask for it, in time. She trusted Sara to do that much. Without thinking, she heard the lyric in her head:<em> I promise this, I won’t go my whole life telling you I don’t need. </em>She remembered the first time she’d heard it, how unsettled and ill she’d felt, the nagging knowledge that something wasn’t okay. But she’d just told Sara that she loved the song, that it was beautiful, and then she’d held her tighter that night, until Sara, in sleep, had inevitably drifted away.</p><p> </p><p>Sara tells her that she’s the only person who’s read her drafts for the memoir, and she feels shocked by the implications of that. She knows that Sara has always valued her opinions, but part of her had assumed that, while she hadn’t been <em>replaced</em> by Stacy, maybe she was no longer the <em>first</em> person Sara went to for anything.</p><p> </p><p>Emy tries, gently, to steer their conversation toward the reason Sara is here, and she notices that Sara is digging her fingers into the skin of her thighs through her jeans. Sara has a million nervous habits, and they’re mostly harmless, but this one stresses Emy out to witness, and she can’t help but call it out. Sara knows Emy is bothered by it, and she never does it consciously, just when she’s so anxious that she’s no longer fully in control of herself.</p><p> </p><p>This is what really worries her. Emy doesn’t want to be the reason that Sara feels anxious to the point of self-harm, no matter how mild. Especially when she’s been trying everything she knows to make her feel safe and comfortable.</p><p> </p><p>But just when Emy finally thinks they’re getting somewhere, when Sara has admitted she’s nervous and confessed, “The thing I wanna talk to you about is kind of a big deal,” a text startles them both.</p><p>                                                                                             </p><p>Damnit. She hadn’t even thought about canceling her plans with Max, hadn’t thought of anyone but SaraSaraSaraStacy<em>Sara</em> since Sara called her.</p><p> </p><p>Emy is prepared for Sara to insist that she cancel her plans. But Sara has apparently been replaced by some sort of pod person who is obsessed with “going with the flow” and being “down for anything,” which is just more evidence that something is really bothering her.</p><p> </p><p>Rather than insist they cancel, Sara insists that they go out with a determination that can only be calculated. Emy can’t hide her shock, but she isn’t prepared for the hurt she sees on Sara’s face at Emy’s surprise, like Sara is offended that Emy expected her to behave in the same way she always has. Emy would feel guilty, but she’s too busy feeling worried about the marked changes in Sara’s behavior.</p><p> </p><p>Emy tries to apologize for her assumption without having to acknowledge that she’s noticed Sara’s hurt (as this would only make Sara feel worse). She does this the only way she knows how, by grabbing the collar of Sara’s jacket and tugging it between her fingers gently. “Thanks,” she mumbles, and after she’s said it she can’t figure out if she’s said it loud enough or clear enough to Sara to hear her at all. But the doorbell rings and then Max is there and the air feels a little different, heavier and lighter at the same time.</p><p> </p><p>Emy can feel how hard Sara is working to project vibes of <em>casual </em>and <em>relaxed</em> and it’s driving her insane. It’s well-intentioned, yes, and it’s sweet in a way that makes her heart ache a little, but the truth is that Emy loves Sara for exactly who she is and exactly who she always has been, and what Emy wants right now is to get Sara alone, wants to sit across from her at a table or on her couch or in her bed and make her talk. She wants her demanding, selfish, direct, bossy best friend, her ex-wife and the person she’ll always love first and best, who will always tell her what she wants from her, who will never lie, never pretend to be better or worse than exactly who she is.</p><p> </p><p>There is a fantasy Emy entertained for years, when Sara was being evasive or distant or confusing. This is the fantasy: a plain room, with a small table. A chair on each side. They’re eye to eye, with no distance, no distractions. She asks Sara questions, and Sara answers them.</p><p> </p><p>Now, Sara trails behind as they walk the narrow sidewalk to the beer garden, and Emy hates the feeling it gives her to know Sara is walking, lonely, behind her. It feels <em>wrong </em>to Emy any time that Sara isn’t asserting herself every chance she gets.</p><p> </p><p>Max, bless them, notices Emy’s discomfort and falls behind, giving their spot next to Emy to Sara without being too obvious about it. Sara never misses anything, and she definitely doesn’t miss this, but it’s a nice effort, and Emy feels a rush of affection for them.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They get to the beer garden, and it’s mostly fine, mostly non-awkward, although Sara’s giving off some weird vibes toward Max. Honestly, Sara is just giving off some weird vibes in general.</p><p> </p><p>She was worried that she’d been interrupting a date or something, which is ridiculous to Emy. As if <em>Sara </em>could <em>interrupt</em> a date with someone else. As if Sara could ever be the third-party, the outsider, in any situation involving Emy. As if she’d ever put anyone before her. It’s laughable.</p><p> </p><p>Sara keeps looking at her phone, putting it back in her pocket, taking it out again.</p><p> </p><p>Emy texts with Stacy throughout the day. At one point, Emy finds Sara crouched over her phone in a hallway, fresh tears drying on her cheeks. She doesn’t volunteer any information, so Emy checks her own phone and, as expected, finds a text from Stacy: <em>I know Sara is being extra dramatic today, but don’t freak out. Just feed her some more beer and she’ll get over herself and talk to you.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>It’s good advice, and it’s what she’d already been planning to do, but it’s nice to have her thoughts confirmed. It’s nice, having Stacy to back her up, feeling like they’re a team. She takes a moment to feel grateful, again, that Stacy came into their lives.</p><p> </p><p>Sara makes her show her the text, and Emy feels only relief to be yelled at and bossed around by her again. It’s a relief to be accused of being in cahoots with Stacy, to be accused of talking about and caring about Sara too much. It’s a relief when Sara leans her head on Emy’s shoulder, tired of fighting her, and when she lets Emy wrap an arm around her to drag her to the bar.</p><p> </p><p>Emy takes Sara’s card out to pay the bartender and when Sara doesn’t move from where she’s nestled into Emy’s shoulder, Emy adds the tip and forges her signature for her, rolling her eyes at her laziness. Sara just smirks up at her.</p><p> </p><p>Something changes in Sara after that, loosening and brightening a bit. Together, they regale Max with stories of their time touring <em>So Jealous</em>, eight of them and all the gear and merch in one van. They tell stories of the fights Sara and Tegan got into, how Emy was the first and only person ever to intervene between them without fear.</p><p> </p><p>Emy still remembers the first time she got in the middle of a fight between the two of them, how Sara had looked shocked and offended because Emy hadn’t just taken her side. In fact, Emy hadn’t taken either of their sides. She’d just wanted them to shut up. Being close with both of them gave her a superpower of sorts, which was the ability to understand and anticipate their arguments, sometimes stopping them before they escalated too far.</p><p> </p><p>She misses Tegan, and she asks Sara whether she’s angry that Sara came here without her. Max seems surprised by the question, and asks why Tegan would be mad.</p><p> </p><p>“She just misses Emy.” Sara explains. “Whatever, you were mine first, Tegan can suck it.” Emy<em> likes</em> the possessive pronoun.</p><p> </p><p>She also likes it when, a little later, Sara jokes that Emy is Sonia’s favorite.</p><p> </p><p>“She likes Stacy and Sofia, too,” Emy says. “And the cats.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you!” Sara says, but she’s grinning. She can take some teasing of this kind, but Emy is careful not to push it too far. She knows Sara has a complex of a sort, about her mom liking Tegan more than her. It’s ridiculous, of course, because Sonia is so obsessed with both of her daughters. But it’s part of a general thing Sara has, a confusing and multi-layered complex about Tegan and likability. Because, yes, Tegan <em>is </em>more universally likable. But it’s entirely because Tegan likes to be liked. And Sara<em> lives</em> for being underrated, being misunderstood, being loved the most by just one person (two people? three people if you count Tegan, which Sara doesn’t, officially).</p><p> </p><p>And Emy isn’t too proud to admit that she thrills at being a part of that inner circle, the most trusted (the<em> only</em> trusted) people whose opinions Sara truly values. She loves being a person that Sara doesn’t want to let down, and she loves that it’s an exclusive group.</p><p> </p><p>Knowing how much Sara values her is like a drug, and she feels high and giddy thinking about it. This feeling, combined with the alcohol in her system, is enough to make her hope.</p><p> </p><p>Sara has relaxed over the course of the afternoon, and Emy starts to feel the night expand with possibility. She keeps replaying Stacy’s words in her head, and lets herself interpret them in a positive light.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You can do anything you want, okay?</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When they get back to Emy's apartment, the air feels different. Emy doesn't feel totally sober, but her buzz has faded into a pleasant hum. She channels all of her focus into making herself relax, sit still, and listen to what Sara has to say.</p><p> </p><p>Sara goes on and on, talking in circles for what feels like hours. At one point, she pulls out her phone, where she’s written honest to god <em>talking points</em> for herself. Emy is on the edge of her seat, desperate for Sara to get to the point.</p><p> </p><p>And when she finally does get to the point, Emy can’t let herself believe it. “Stacy and I want a relationship with you,” she says. The words echo in her head, and she can’t make them make sense.</p><p> </p><p>Sara’s doing her thing again, digging her hand into her own leg, and Emy grabs the hand by the wrist, wrapping her fingers around the tattooed tendons there.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you meant you want to see each other more?” she asks.</p><p> </p><p>“No—well, yes. But what I mean is, we want a romantic and sexual relationship with you,” Sara explains. “We want—we want to be with you. Not as a third or a hookup or whatever the fuck but as a partner. I have <em>obviously</em> never done anything like this, but Stacy brought it up in therapy—”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re in couple’s therapy?” Emy interrupts. She can’t help it. She finds that—<em>so</em> hot. Some part of her brain, slowly, is registering the rest of what Sara just told her.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>That’s</em> the part you comment on?” Sara demands. “Yes. It’s not because anything is wrong,” she says, “I just—don’t want to make the same mistakes with her that I did with you. I’m trying to be . . . better.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think it’s great that you’re in therapy, Sara!” she rushes to clarify. “I’m proud of you. I think it’s great how hard you’re working.”</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t good for you,” Sara says. “I know that. I’m so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“That was a long time ago. We’re way past that, we’re good. I wasn’t very good to you either,” Emy says. But it’s confusing. She’s so confused. Her brain is starting to catch up. Sara had said—"romantic and sexual relationship.” With—<em>both</em> of them? “Are you and Stacy not happy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh god, no, we’re—we’re doing great, actually. This is really about you. It’s not that something is wrong with Stacy and me, it’s just that . . . I miss you, and so does she. And—I just can’t keep going on acting like I don’t want you just as much as I always have.”</p><p> </p><p>And it’s everything Emy has ever wanted to hear, and everything she never expected. Which is why she has to push back. “Why . . . what’s changed, Sara? Why now?”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?” Sara asks. She has stilled, her face frozen.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean . . . I’m sorry, are you being deliberately obtuse right now?” Emy checks. She doesn’t think she is, which just makes her feel even more confused.</p><p> </p><p>“No, Emy, I swear, I mean it—nothing’s changed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well if nothing’s changed, then . . . I don’t get what you’re doing here,” Emy says. She can hear herself fucking this up, but she can’t stop it. It’s self-preservation, probably, but it’s also self-sabotage.</p><p> </p><p>“Emy. I promise I’m not trying to play dumb or anything. Can I just . . . can you . . . will you explain to me what you mean? What you’re worried about?” And Sara—Sara didn’t talk like this. This was therapy speak. And it was helpful, but it caught her of-guard.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Okay. So. I don’t want to upset you, Sara, but, I’m just not sure where this is coming from? Since we broke up, you have never indicated in the slightest that you wanted something more with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“What are you talking about? I tried to get you back, like, so many times.”</p><p> </p><p>And it’s honestly disorienting to hear Sara launch into what she apparently sees as times she tried to win Emy’s affection. Sara’s version of events is nothing like Emy’s own memory, but as she reframes their past, she can start to see it from Sara’s perspective. It even makes sense, in a completely ridiculous and fucked up way that only Sara’s brain would conjure up.</p><p> </p><p>It’s taken years, but Emy thinks she finally knows how Sara works. Well. Not how she works. No one will ever know that. Sara will never not be a mystery to her. She’d be devastated, probably, if she really understood everything about what makes Sara Sara. What fun would that be? </p><p> </p><p>But this part. This part, she thinks she finally has a handle on.</p><p> </p><p>Sara has a thing about control. She likes to feel in control of herself, and she likes to be in control of herself. But what she likes even more is feeling so safe that she can relinquish some of that control.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t like to be chased. She is only interested in chasing after you. This is her way of ensuring that you actually want her.</p><p> </p><p>But once she has you, once she is convinced she really has you, she’s yours. Although she hates being chased, she loves being caught. She likes to be—not dominated, not controlled, but—contained. Directed. Held.</p><p> </p><p>But right now, she’s still acting shy. She rambles anxiously, unmoored.</p><p> </p><p>“I know that I’m better now. I mean, I know that I’ve worked really hard to be someone better, for Stacy and for you. But I’ve always wanted you. It’s never been a question of want. It never felt possible. Obviously it still isn’t and—”</p><p> </p><p>“Sara, <em>relax,</em>” Emy says. Telling Sara to relax is pointless, but she can’t help it. “Do you need your puffer?”</p><p> </p><p>“I know you’re joking, but I really might.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not scared of you, Sara,” Emy tells her softly. She’s still holding her hand, thumb stroking at her wrist.</p><p> </p><p>“You haven’t said yes,” Sara says.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my <em>god</em>,” Emy says, exasperated. “Of course I want to be with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You do?” There’s real fear in Sara’s eyes, somehow.</p><p> </p><p>“Come here,” Emy tells her, reaching out to pull her closer. “Can I kiss you?”</p><p> </p><p>“What kind of a question is that?” Sara asks, teasing but also a little combative. Emy smiles at that, trying not to laugh, and kisses her. When she woke up this morning, she hadn’t expected to ever kiss Sara again, but it’s the easiest and most natural thing in the world.</p><p> </p><p>Too quickly, Sara pulls back to peer into Emy’s eyes. “You are so important to me,” Sara says, and she still doesn’t sound calm, or sure. She definitely doesn’t sound relaxed. “You are the most important thing. I promise to be so careful, I’ll be good—”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve always been good, Sara.”</p><p> </p><p>“I want to be <em>better</em>, Emy,” she insists.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey. You’re the most important thing to me too, you know,” Emy says. She places a hand on Sara’s cheek and feels warm when Sara leans into the touch. “I’m always going to want you.” Both these things seem obvious to Emy, and silly to say out loud, but she knows Sara needs to hear them. “I don’t want to get in between you and Stacy, though. This kind of thing is complicated.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Sara says, flinching away just slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m not saying I don’t want it. I do want it, I want it so much. I’m just agreeing that we need to be careful.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Sara insists. “I will be!”</p><p> </p><p>“Sara, I don’t mean you specifically. I don’t want you thinking you owe me anything or that you don’t deserve this. I just mean that we all need to be careful with each other, the three of us.”</p><p> </p><p>Sara nods, and Emy can see the thoughts churning behind her eyes. “Obviously, it wouldn’t be fair for me to ask you to be monogamous—or, whatever the word is for three people—”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I <em>want</em>,” Emy cuts in, but Sara doesn’t stop for her.</p><p> </p><p>“If there’s someone else you’re interested in—”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s no one else.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe—Max seemed like they liked you a lot, and I don’t want to get in the way of that—”</p><p> </p><p>“Sara, I already told you,” Emy says. “I am not interested in Max.”</p><p> </p><p>“But if there’s <em>someone</em>—"</p><p> </p><p>“Honestly, Sara, I think two girlfriends is enough, don’t you?” She means it as a simple joke, but she’s surprised at the genuine thrill that she feels at the words. Two girlfriends. Sara<em> and</em> Stacy.</p><p> </p><p>Sara’s quiet for a minute, and Emy has to remind herself to give her time to think and to speak. “But not too much?”</p><p> </p><p>Emy grins, shaking her head. “Not too much.” </p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Sara says. “Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Sara?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Did you think—did you actually think I’d say no? Did you think there was a chance that you’d ask me something and I’d say no to you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe,” Sara says, sounding, of all things, annoyed. “You <em>could</em> have said no,” she argues.</p><p> </p><p>Sara’s combative tone, patently ridiculous, is what finally causes the floodgates inside Emy to break, and she’s laughing, hysterical and euphoric.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Emy wakes up in the night, already alert, heart pounding, sweat pooling under her thighs. She startles when she feels warm air on the back of her neck. She’s in her own bedroom, but she has to take a moment to orient herself, as if she’s sleeping somewhere new for the first time.</p><p> </p><p>Sara is here. Sara is here in her bed. For several moments, all Emy can do is lie there, feeling Sara’s presence. Her body knows Sara’s body, in waking and in sleep.</p><p> </p><p>Everything from the previous day comes flooding back, and she has to work to sort through it. Her brain can’t decide which part it wants to relive first: the moment Stacy told her she could do <em>anything</em>, her second first kiss with Sara, their FaceTime call with Stacy. Emy had never even attempted anything resembling virtual sex before last night, but. She could imagine it becoming a part of her life. Easily.</p><p> </p><p>She can’t resist turning her head to look at Sara, whole and at peace in sleep. In her bed. Sara is not someone who cuddles in sleep or really in wakefulness, but Emy is greedy for touching her right now. She reaches back to graze Sara’s arm lightly with her fingers. She’s gotten new tattoos, not since she’s seen her, but definitely since she’s touched her like this. She stares at them in the dim light as her eyes adjust, tracing her fingers over them, committing them to memory.</p><p> </p><p>Sara is a light sleeper, and Emy is sure she’ll wake up, but she can’t just not look at her, not touch her; she can’t resist the magnetic pull she feels for her.  </p><p> </p><p>Inevitably Sara stirs and her eyes flutter open, coming to focus on Emy’s face. “Hi,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi.” Emy can’t help but grin at her.</p><p> </p><p>Sara surprises her then by reaching out for her, reeling her in, and Emy goes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next time Emy wakes up, it’s to an empty bed and the smell of coffee.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a good smell, and she likes it even more because it reminds her that Sara is here and is at least feeling comfortable enough to make coffee. But she can tell from the dim light barely eking through her blinds that it’s early, and, while she isn’t surprised, she knows that Sara being up at dawn can’t be a good sign. Emy lies there for a minute, scanning through her memories of the past twenty-four hours, before she makes herself get out of bed. She chooses coffee before Sara, because she’s sure she’ll need coffee for whatever awaits her.</p><p> </p><p>She finds her curled up on the sofa while Like Like looks on with interest. She’s taken a book from the shelf, <em>NW</em>, and is clearly rereading a favorite passage. For a moment all Emy can do is stare. They shouldn’t make people as pretty as Sara. It doesn’t matter how many hours she’s spent staring at her, how many hundreds of times she’s drawn her face from memory, the sight is arresting every time.</p><p>   </p><p>“Hey,” she says, feeling shy.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” Sara says, a shy grin blooming across her face as she places the book spine-up on the arm of the couch.</p><p> </p><p>“You okay?” Emy asks.</p><p> </p><p>Sara nods, maybe just a bit too quickly.</p><p> </p><p>Emy raises an eyebrow. “You want pancakes?”</p><p> </p><p>Sara nods again. “I can help.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you?” Emy asks, with an expression she knows can only be described as indulgent.</p><p> </p><p>Sara follows her back to the kitchen, where she perches at the counter, eating chocolate chips from the bag and giving occasional critiques and encouragements to Emy as she cooks. Helping.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As is her neurotic custom, Sara washes the mixing bowl and the frying pan before they sit down to eat. Emy studies her from across the room. “Hey. What do you think you’ll tell Tegan and Sonia?”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?” Sara asks, looking genuinely confused.</p><p> </p><p>“About us,” Emy clarifies. “Do you think you’ll tell them?”</p><p> </p><p>Sara’s face falls. “Of course I will! I know I’m a coward but . . . I won’t hide<em> this</em>.” She says this a little dramatically, if Emy’s being honest. It’s a dramatic thing to say. But it’s sweet, and it’s important.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not a coward, Jesus, you know I think you’re very brave.” Emy assures her. “I just wanted to know what was okay to say to Tegan.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll tell Mum and Tegan right now if you want!” Sara offers, already reaching for her phone. Emy grabs her hands to still them. “I’m private, but I’m not going to keep you a secret. I wouldn’t. Stacy wouldn’t either. I’m not—I’m so happy that you’re willing to try this with me, I want people to know. Who wouldn’t want everyone to know that they’re with you?”</p><p> </p><p>Emy just keeps staring at her, a little stunned. It’s obvious Sara’s been thinking about this, rehearsing this part in her head. Maybe it’s what got her awake so early. Probably she’s been writing more talking points.</p><p> </p><p>Emy hands Sara a plate, hoping she’ll follow her to the couch. She needs sustenance and she needs to sit down if she’s going to have this conversation.</p><p><br/>Luckily for her, Sara has more to say, and doesn’t seem to need any real participation from Emy yet.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll still get scared sometimes, I’m still worried about everything, but I’m not going to let that control me. It might take me some time to be—not scared, and I might have a hard time with the—you know I get scared sometimes to be myself, in public, and <em>this</em> might be hard. But I swear I wouldn’t be coming to you now like this if I didn’t think I could be good for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I believe you, sweetheart,” Emy says, and she does. She knew Sara was serious about this, but she didn’t expect her to be ready to say all of this, so quickly. Sometimes she’s so proud of Sara she can’t breathe. “I can tell how hard you’ve been working and I’m so proud of you. I know you don’t see yourself that way, but you’re so brave and vulnerable—so good at being yourself.” Emy keeps finding parts of Sara’s body she hasn’t touched yet. She grabs her hand and starts tracing the tattoos on her wrist, the shape of the lines and the circle as familiar as breathing.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, I don’t know that we should be like, public-public. Not immediately, I mean.”</p><p> </p><p>Emy nods. Honestly, she can’t imagine anything that would stress her out more than, say, a post from the Tegan and Sara Instagram account announcing their relationship. “You have a pretty public life.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she agrees. “And I’m never going to not be a private person. But I don’t want to lie. And I definitely won’t hide anything from my family.” As the passion dissipates, Sara realizes something, feeling cold. “Unless . . . do you not want—“</p><p> </p><p>“Stop it, come on. I would shout it from the rooftops if I could.”</p><p> </p><p>Sara smiles. “Mum isn’t going to <em>get</em> it, but she’ll be so happy,” she says. “Tegan will be . . . smug, probably.”</p><p> </p><p>“She won’t think we’re crazy?”</p><p> </p><p>“No!” Sara says immediately. “But who the fuck cares if she does?”</p><p> </p><p>Emy cares. Obviously. “You don’t think she’ll be . . . upset? Or mad at me?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard,” Sara says, but it doesn’t sound at all absurd to Emy. When she and Sara broke up, Tegan had been the one to bear the brunt of Sara’s grief, and anger, and depression. Emy knows Tegan doesn’t hold it against her personally, but if she were in Tegan’s position, she would definitely be wary of Emy and Sara getting back together.</p><p> </p><p>“She can just be—<em>so</em> protective of you. Which is a good quality but it’s pretty scary to be on the receiving end of.” Sometimes Emy thinks that Sara must have no idea how much people really love her.</p><p> </p><p>“Tegan isn’t scary.” Sara scoffs, although if anyone knows how scary Tegan can be when she thinks she’s protecting Sara, it’s Sara herself.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell that to the elbow in my face.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you really think that was me?” Sara asks seriously.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re identical twins, how am I supposed to know whose elbow it was?” Emy says, a weak joke. “I had to pry you apart, you guys weren’t separate people at that point, just a congealed mass of rage. So honestly I have no clue how I got the black eye. But I definitely bruised you both trying to restrain you, so we can consider it even.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry.” Sara says, reaching a hand to stroke around her eye, tracing the exact contours of a fifteen year old bruise. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”</p><p> </p><p>Emy knows Sara is no longer talking about the errant elbow in a sibling scuffle. “I survived to tell the tale.” She jokes. “Honestly, I’m more impressed you and Tegan made it through those years. But we all survived.”</p><p> </p><p>“I was . . . I was really awful to her,” Sara says, and it takes Emy a minute to catch up to what she’s saying.</p><p> </p><p>“What? When?”<br/><br/></p><p>“After you and I broke up. I was . . . unbearable.”</p><p><br/><br/>“Oh, I remember,” Emy jokes.</p><p> </p><p>But Sara definitely isn’t laughing. “I took advantage of her. I took advantage of—the fact that she was stuck with me. That she loves me. That’s something I do. It’s something I’m trying not to do. I never managed to scare her away.”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s your sister,” Emy says, confused. “She loves you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Sara frowns.</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t scare her away.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know.”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t scare me away either,” Emy continues. “You can’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Sara agrees, but like she’s not sure if she’s happy about it.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s the point of unconditional love, Sara.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I don’t know that I like that?” she muses, only halfway joking. “Like, shouldn’t there be <em>some </em>conditions?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey. Listen, you’re not special. This is one of those things that’s universal, okay? Tegan’s done tons of shit to you, and you didn’t stop loving <em>her</em>, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Sara rolls her eyes, which is at least an indication that she’s listening. “What has Tegan ever done to me?”</p><p> </p><p>Emy can’t stop the genuine, full laugh that bursts forward at that. “I say this as someone who loves Tegan <em>unconditionally</em>, she’s one of my dearest friends, okay? But she’s attention-hogging, overbearing, overprotective, she’s constantly interrupting you, constantly ignoring your feelings, she can be<em> comically</em> self-absorbed. And you, as her twin sister and business partner and favorite person in the world, are the one she hurts the most. That’s just how it works, Sara. I’m not saying it’s good or okay, I’m just saying you aren’t this scary, strange person, okay? I know you hate to hear this, but you’re just like everyone else.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Sara says, sounding a little tamer. Sara is always more comfortable once Emy starts talking like this: in control, knowledgeable, confident.</p><p> </p><p>“So you don’t think she’ll be upset?”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you kidding? She’ll be thrilled.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Emy reads over Sara’s shoulder as she sends Tegan a text: <em>please don’t freak out and DON’T tell mum yet—but Emy and stacy and I are together now. please keep your comments to yourself.</em></p><p> </p><p>The reply is instantaneous:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>together like TOGETHER???!!!!? A couple!?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Throuple*??</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>                 Yes. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>                 I don’t like the word “throuple.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Proud of you!!!!</em>
</p><p>           </p><p>Sara’s relief at the brevity of this interaction is short-lived, because within minutes Emy’s phone is ringing. “Don’t answer that,” Sara says as Emy reaches for the phone, accepting the call. If she doesn’t answer now then she’ll never stop calling. Best to get it over with.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi Tegan,” Emy says.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god,” Tegan exclaims loudly into her ear.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Emy agrees.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my <em>god</em>,” she says again.</p><p> </p><p>Emy laughs at her. “Yep.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Oh</em> my god.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that the only thing you can say? Are you broken?”</p><p> </p><p>Tegan <em>giggles</em>. “Does this mean you’re gonna come to Vancouver more?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um, probably,” she says. She hadn’t even considered that yet.</p><p> </p><p>"Thank god," Tegan says.</p><p> </p><p>“So, you’re happy for us?” Emy checks. Honestly, she knows Sara’s annoyed by Tegan’s enthusiasm, but she really isn’t. Tegan’s excitement is everything she didn’t know she needed to hear. She hadn’t realized just how nervous she’d been of her reaction.</p><p> </p><p>“Obviously,” Tegan says. “This is the best news ever.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Emy agrees. “Okay, bye Tegan,” she says, and hangs up, looking to Sara. “If you just answer her the first time, she’s not as annoying.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Since texting Tegan was—well, definitely not painless, but at least relatively quick, Sara decides to text her mum too.</p><p> </p><p>Or she starts to draft a text, but she can’t figure it out.</p><p> </p><p>Emy suggests they FaceTime her together. It’s better than any option she can come up with, so she lets Emy dial.</p><p> </p><p>Sonia picks up quickly, full of confused enthusiasm. “Hello? Emy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Sonia!” Emy says brightly.</p><p> </p><p>“Sara?” Sonia says, blinking in confusion. “Sorry, hi, Emy! Sara, where are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“What, no hi to me too?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Sara. Where the fuck are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Montreal. I came to see Emy,” Sara says impatiently. “Obviously.”</p><p> </p><p>“Obviously,” Sonia repeats.</p><p> </p><p>“Sonia, we wanted to talk to you,” Emy says. Over the years, she’s perfected the skill of cutting in between arguments among various combinations of the three Quin women.</p><p> </p><p>“Girls, I have to tell you, I was walking Tilly earlier and it was the strangest thing—”</p><p> </p><p>“Sonia, we have something to tell you,” Emy reiterates.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” she says, just a little put out by the interruption. “Okay?”</p><p> </p><p> “Sonia, Sara and Stacy and I are . . . together.”</p><p> </p><p>“And?” Sonia says, looking unimpressed and very much like she wants to get back to her Tilly story.</p><p> </p><p>“No, Mum, she doesn’t mean that we’re all physically together right now. Stacy’s at home, actually. She means—” Sara starts bravely, and Emy’s heart twinges because she can hear the subtle shake in her voice, the way she’s steeled herself to say this, before Sonia cuts her off.</p><p> </p><p>“She means you’re in a polyamorous relationship, yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Sara says, deflating. “Yes. She does,” she confirms. Her eyes narrow at the little screen, confused and annoyed. “What the fuck?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, “ Sonia says, not sounding very sorry at all. “Did you—did you think you were<em> telling</em> me this? For the first time?”</p><p> </p><p>“We <em>are</em> telling you this!” Sara yells, exasperated. “This is a new fact about our lives that we are sharing with you for the first time.”</p><p> </p><p>Now Sonia is the one who looks confused. “What’s—why are you so upset?” she asks, turning to Emy like she expects her to explain Sara’s reaction to her. Normally, this is a smart tactic, but right now Emy is far too baffled to make sense of what’s happening herself, let alone explain it to someone else.</p><p> </p><p>“Just,” Sara says, “wait.” She gets up, leaves Emy alone to stare at the phone. Walks to the kitchen, for more coffee or maybe liquor. Emy glares at her back.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought this was like the gay thing,” Sonia is saying, now to Emy alone.</p><p> </p><p>“The . . . gay thing?” Emy asks in a voice that is so controlled and patient she thinks she should probably get some kind of award. Maybe from the HRC or someone.</p><p> </p><p>“When Sara first came out to me, she was so <em>annoyed</em> that I made her say it so explicitly, so I thought we were just—learning from our mistakes. This time we both understood what was going on, so I was respecting her boundaries,” she’s explaining, although it’s not making any more sense to Emy. “In my PFLAG group, we had a speaker who gave the most amazing talk—it was The Myth of Coming Out or, no, I think it was called . . . Problematizing the Narrative of the Closet? Something like that. Anyway, it was all about how expecting people to come out actually reinforces compulsory heterosexuality.”</p><p> </p><p>“That—that actually makes sense,” Emy says.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought so,” Sonia says, starting to look worried. “It is<em> impossible</em> to know what Sara wants sometimes, she’s so secretive about the strangest things. Was I really not supposed to know all this time?”</p><p> </p><p><em>All this time? </em>“Know what?” Emy asks dumbly.</p><p> </p><p>“Know about your relationship.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sonia,” Emy says, shaking her head as if to clear it. “This is a new thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“New?” Sonia frowns. “How new?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um...last night?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, are you joking? Where did Sara go?” She’s craning her neck like Sara might suddenly appear in view.</p><p> </p><p>“No, Sonia, I’m dead serious. We weren’t together.” Then she calls half-heartedly, “Sara? You coming back?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Sara says, but then she appears with two coffee cups in hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I thought you had been together for years. Sara likes to be private, you know? She doesn’t tell me anything.”</p><p> </p><p>Which, Emy gets that. But also, w<em>hat the fuck</em>? “Well, she’s telling you this,” Emy says.</p><p> </p><p>Sara sits down next to Emy on the couch. “Mum, oh my god,” she says, taking the phone from Emy’s hand. She takes a breath, clearly needing to put some effort into collecting herself. “We’re together, okay? Is that okay with you?”</p><p> </p><p>It almost surprises Emy to hear Sara ask that, but it makes sense. Sara acts like she doesn’t need approval from anyone, for anything, but that’s all an act to cover up the real truth, which is that the approval of a few select people means the world to her.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay with me? Why wouldn’t it be okay with me?” Sonia says, looking just as confused as she’s looked for the entire call. Beside her, Emy feels Sara relax. “Can I tell you about Tilly now?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sara can’t stay forever. Eventually, she has to go back home.</p><p> </p><p>Emy drives her to the airport, and is horrified to find herself on the verge of tears as she pulls up to the curb to let Sara out.  </p><p> </p><p>Sara makes her get out of the car to hug her, tight like a straitjacket. Emy knows how Sara hates public displays of emotion and drawn-out goodbyes, and she knows she’s doing it for her solely benefit, and the gesture makes the first tears spring from her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>She kisses the part of Sara’s head her face is pressed up against, somewhere near her ear, breathing in the scent of her. “I’ll see you soon?” she says.</p><p> </p><p>Sara’s eyes are wet when she pulls back from the embrace, nodding vigorously. “I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>As she drives home, Emy thinks about how long is appropriate to wait before texting. She talks herself down and resolves to wait until that evening, just a quick message to make sure Sara got home safely.  </p><p> </p><p>But when she parks her car and pulls out her phone, she has 139 new text notifications. All from a new group message, which Stacy has named simply with three emojis: a heart, a cat, and a home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hiiiii!!!!! (that was my impersonation of tegan sending an email.) </p><p>please leave me a comment! also I'm wicca-folknightmare on tumblr, I'm really nice, come say hi!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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